


Wives and Revelations

by idlesuperstar



Series: The Life And Death Of Sugar Candy [20]
Category: The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:35:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idlesuperstar/pseuds/idlesuperstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, there were too many people in his heart tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wives and Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> November 1939, London. 
> 
> Series notes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/36980)  
> 

Curse this bloody sergeant! Clive thought. I’ve a good mind to take over myself! How slowly can one man drive? Too conscious of Clive’s rank, and too little aware of the urgency of the situation. Who taught these soldiers to drive, anyway? He’d not thrown his weight around to get on that plane only to be thwarted by English courtesy. God, finally! The driver sounded the horn, alerting the sentry. Oh, let him not be too late! He scrambled out of the car, not caring how undignified he looked. Then he was blowing through the door, and lord above, _Theo -_ there he was, there he was, getting to his feet, disbelief across his face. Did he think Clive wouldn’t come? Clive knew he was beaming, couldn’t help it. The relief.  

“Theo, my dear chap, let me have a good look at you!” He grasped Theo’s arms, oh, God, _yes_ , here he was, real and alive! “By god, you've kept your figure better than I have!” He couldn’t take it in. God, he looked older. But yes, still fit. Fitter than Clive. He slapped his own belly. “Bit of a bay window, what?” He turned to the officer, wanted him to see who he was dealing with. “You see, sir, I wouldn't be surprised if this fellow really dislikes us. He comes to England twice in his life - ” he turned back to Theo, just to look at him. God, the look on his face! As if Clive were some kind of knight errant!  “ - the first time he's a prisoner and the second time he's about to be one. May I talk to him, sir?” He realised he was holding onto Theo’s overcoat, couldn’t let him go,  “I haven't seen him for nineteen - ” 

“Twenty - ” said Theo, a little hoarsely. He looked overwhelmed, still. A little pale. He looked like a man in need of a drink and a good dinner.

“Twenty years and a bit,” said Clive, turning back to the officer. Christ, how was it possible? And yet it felt like no time, with Theo in front of him.

“Afraid not here, General. We have many Kretschmar-Schuldorffs waiting.”

How odd, thought Clive, distracted for a moment. How odd that there were other Kretschmar-Schuldorffs. He always thought of Theo as the only one. He crossed over to the officer, thought he better lay it on a bit thick if he were to get Theo out of here.

“You mean to say that I've travelled eleven hours from - mustn't say where -  and you won't allow me to have a  word with a condemned man?” 

“Well, you don't have to go back this minute, do you?”

“Tomorrow morning, sir, and infernally early too.” Which was true. He shouldn’t really have come at all. But - how could he not? To hear from Theo after all this time! And the _thought_ of him in another camp - . Looking at him now, well, Clive wasn’t sure he’d survive it. No, he wouldn’t allow it. 

“Well, that’s all right, you can talk to him all day and all night till midnight,” and Clive’s treacherous heart thumped at that thought,  “ - Aliens' Curfew, you know.”

“And I can take him with me?”

“If you say you know him.” 

He turned back to look at Theo. Oh, his face!

“Do I know him?” Clive said, his heart full to bursting. 

“And will stand surety for him.”

“With everything I have, sir.” Theo’s eyes. God, his eyes, as Clive said that. He looked ready to weep. As if it wasn’t the easiest, truest thing in the world to say. He beamed at Theo, took his arm, oh, to be able to do that! Theo paused, put on his hat, took up his stick. Shook the officer’s hand, courteous as always. So precise! And then Clive was bowling him out of the door, into the cold air, and then the warm cocoon of the car. 

“Alright, sergeant, you know where you’re going?” he called to the driver. 

“Yessir. Belgravia. Cardigan Place, sir.”

“On you go, then!” and he could take all the time in the world, now. Now that Theo was here beside him, safe in the car. He looked at his friend, then, properly for the first time. Theo’s arm was tense under his hand, the other hand white knuckled on the handle of his stick. He was trembling, ever so slightly.

“Theo - ” Clive started, low, anxious not to be overheard; anxious not to startle his friend. 

“Clive - ” Theo stopped, took a breath, tried again. “Clive - ” he gave a great shudder, and crumpled  back into the seat, a hand over his eyes. 

“Theo!” Clive was really anxious now. He had a hand on Theo's arm, the other on his knee. Trying to comfort. Not knowing where to start. “Theo, it’s alright, old thing. I’m here. It’s all going to be fine.” 

Theo was trembling under his hands, still hiding his face. And then sitting up blindly, dropping his stick, putting his head in his hands, his back heaving.  Oh god, he was weeping. No, _no_. Clive couldn’t bear it. 

“Theo - ” he moved closer, put a useless hand on Theo’s back, stroking. God, Theo was cold, not at all like he remembered. Theo always ran hot. That was one of the things Clive loved. No, he mustn’t think of that now. Theo needed his help. “Theo, what can I do? How can I help?” 

Another shudder, and a choked-off noise. Oh, he had made it worse, somehow! 

“Clive - ” oh the sound of him! So small. Theo was never small. “You idiot,” he said, voice rough, “you absolute, _unvergleichlich_ , _herrlich_ \- marvellous - idiot!” And Theo was looking at him now, eyes wet, face blotchy. “Only you could sweep in there, and save me from that terrible thing, and then ask how you could help!” He shook his head at Clive, started searching his pockets, found a handkerchief. He wiped his eyes, looking embarrassed.  “You are an idiot of the first order, my friend," he said, in a low, hoarse voice, "and I don’t think I have ever been more pleased to see you.” He sat back against the seat, his eyes still red. Clive looked at him, still concerned. Theo mustered a shaky smile for him and Clive smiled back in relief. And what nonsense, really. Theo would have done the same for him, were their situations reversed. 

“You’re frightfully cold, old thing.” He took Theo’s hand between his. “It’s not like you at all.” He would soon warm up. Get him home, get him some brandy. Home! How thrilling it was to think it. 

“I was sitting in that corridor for a long time. Your English buildings. They seem built to let in every draft. But I did not dare be late. They gave me a cup of tea, but you know what it is like, in wartime. That’s the first thing to go." He smiled, briefly, just a small quirk of his lips, but oh it was good to see. "And a German always prefers coffee.” 

“Well, I’ve still got a good cupboard at home. We’ll have a fine dinner. And you can tell me all that you’ve been up to.”

“Well, I am not too proud to say no to a fine dinner," Theo said, sounding steadier, more like his old self. "But - " he dropped his eyes to his lap, to his hand still clasped between Clive's. "Would - would it be terrible if we did not talk of such things? It has not been a happy time for me, of late.” 

“Of course, of course. Whatever you say. Oh, Theo! I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. I thought I’d not get here in time. Truth be told, I shouldn’t really be here at all.” He curled his hand round Theo’s arm, moved closer, trying to get him warmer. A sudden flash of memory, of another journey like this, back to the house, pressed up against each other. Oh! He flushed at the thought of it. He must not think of it, not yet, not with Theo so shaken, so worn out. So difficult not to, though. With Theo close, and real, and looking at him with his fond grey eyes. His hair was grey now, and his moustache. No matter. It suited him. 

“I was not sure you would come, Clive.”

“Of course I would!” Clive was indignant. What did Theo think of him?

“No, no - ” Theo patted his hand, pressed it gently for a moment. Oh! “Do not mistake me. I knew you would, if you could. I was just not at all sure - where you would be, if you could get away. If you were still even in London. Everything - ” he paused, looking at Clive, looking sad, “ - everything has changed so much, Clive. I feared that even you might have changed.”

“Theo!” 

“No, Clive.” Theo smiled at him again, his hand warmer now on Clive’s, even through the leather, “Of course you have not changed. You are still the same great heart, under everything.” He shifted in the seat, straightening his leg. It must be the cold, thought Clive. The cold still got to his shoulder. A flash of memory; Theo, working his shoulder, his hands warm and capable. God, could he not keep his thoughts under control? What was he, a boy? So difficult, though with Theo warm all up against his side, now. 

 _Everything has changed so much._ Why was Theo here in England? Not that Clive was sorry, no, quite the reverse! Had Edith wanted to come home, finally? Or - Clive’s heart skittered - had he come to see Clive?

“When did you get to London, Theo?” he asked. It must have been at least a month ago, for him to have sent that letter. Perhaps they had come over when war was declared.

“What?” asked Theo, distracted. “Oh. June? I think. Yes. June ’35.”

’35! Four years! _Four years_ and no word until now. Clive was stunned. Had he been in Germany he’d have sought out Theo straight away. Was that what _everything has changed so much_ meant? That he’d only written to Clive as a last resort? Because of what strings he could pull? Clive sank back against the seat, Theo’s hand slipping from his. 

“Clive?” Theo’s voice was soft. 

“Mmm. Oh.” He swallowed, trying to shift the hollow feeling in his gut. “Sorry. Just tired. Long day.”

“Yes. We are old men, hey?”

“Yes.” he said, tiredly. “Yes.” Old, foolish men. Foolish to think that things wouldn’t change, that - he could barely face the thought - that Theo’s feelings wouldn’t change. All these years his own heart - _Mein Herz,_ he thought with a pang _-_ had been constant, and he had thought the same of Theo. But obviously he was wrong. Four years, here, in London. And no word. _Everything has changed so much._ Was it really that much of a surprise? After all, Theo’s life had been so different to Clive’s. Children. A - _full_ \- marriage. Years of it. That would change a man, surely? He had not spoken of the boys. Was that something to keep from Clive? Theo had always been so open with him. Did Theo - oh, Clive could not bear the thought of it - had his family come to be everything to him, so that there was no room left for Clive? 

What had he had with Theo, after all, but a few hours together, in that tiny bed? Not a lifetime. Enough, perhaps, for Theo to think of him fondly. For Theo to seek his help when there was no other way. They had lost touch, these last years, and Clive had always thought nothing of it. Had always carried the thought of Theo, steady and true, as he still carried his photograph. The knowledge that they would find each other again. And now to find that Theo had been here, in London, and not sought him out -  

What a fool I am, Clive thought, staring unseeing at the gloom outside. Only myself to blame. Not Theo’s fault, not really. Theo shifted his leg again and the movement pressed them closer together. Clive’s stomach lurched. God! His body would always betray him, regardless, eager for the firm press of Theo’s thigh against his own. He must overcome this. He risked a glance at Theo. Lord, how tired he looked. Whatever they were to each other now he needed Clive’s help, and he would get it, unconditionally. 

“You feeling warmer now, Theo?” He looked out of the window, into the darkening afternoon. How he hated these winter days, the nights drawing in so early. “We’re nearly home.”

“And will I finally get to meet your wife, Clive?” Theo asked. Oh, of course, he didn’t know. Clive hadn’t been able to face writing to people. Barbara had always taken care of that. Except for his postcards to Theo. He’d wanted to tell him, but could never quite bring himself to write, and the more he put it off, the harder it became. Felt it would be better said in person. And then, it seemed wrong, somehow. How to say  - it was two, or three, or five years ago,without seeming unfeeling? And anyway their postcards had always been brief, and said little of actual events. It was the writing of them that mattered. What had they needed to say?

“I should have told you years ago. She died, back in ’26.” The words had become easier to say, over the years. But oh, how he longed - with a sudden sharp pang - for Barbara to be here. To help him through this fearful muddle. He missed her understanding, her steady comfort, her quick teasing. 

“Clive! Oh, my boy, I am so sorry. All this time. I should have known,” and his hands were warm, clasping Clive’s, a soft look in his eyes. That was kind of him. That genuine sorrow. And there was no reproach, for Clive’s silence. Only sympathy. As if - as if he knew Clive’s sadness like it was his own. Oh, _no_. It couldn’t be.

“Oh, Theo, no, don’t tell me. Not - Edith?” 

“Yes, Clive, I am afraid it is true.” Theo’s voice dropped, low. “Six years ago, now.” 

Clive sat back, stunned, his hands slipping from Theo’s. No. Not Edith. He had always thought - in that way one did - that he would see her again. They had never had that holiday in Germany, he and Barbara. What an idle dream that seemed, afterwards. There was always a new posting, the fun of seeing Barbara’s excitement at new places. And then, after she died, nothing, for a long time. He’d never quite found the energy somehow, to visit Germany. Or perhaps the courage, to see Theo and Edith and their happiness without Barbara in his corner. But this! He put his hand to his mouth, overcome. He felt a part of his youth suddenly gone forever.

“Clive - ” and Theo’s voice was kind, as he put a hand on Clive’s arm, “Clive, I am sorry. I did not think, how it would upset you.” But Clive was lost, for a moment, in the memory of a Berlin cafe, and a time before Theo, even. A mountain of pastries, and beer for the band, and the most remarkable girl he’d met. Were it not for Edith, he would never have looked for - and found - Barbara. And yes, were it not for Edith he would never have known Theo - and oh! - that was unthinkable. But, she was mine first, he thought. I knew her first. And what a dear friend she had been! And what a revelation! That a girl could be _more_ \- more than a pretty thing who liked music! He turned to look out of the window, Theo’s hand slipping from his arm, felt the tears brimming. That bright girl! He felt terribly bitter, suddenly, that Theo had taken her away. Over the years he’d borne the absence of Theo, knowing there was no other way. But oh! Could he not see? That in one fell swoop he’d left Clive doubly bereft, when he took Edith with him. And now - now. That hope he’d carried of seeing her was lost forever. He took a shuddering breath, still could not face Theo with this awful sick feeling in his stomach. The utter wrongness of the world without Edith in it. He must get himself back under control. He realised with a start that they were on his street, and wiped his eyes surreptitiously. 

“We’re here, Theo. Let’s get you inside and warmed up, eh?” he said, briskly, trying to cover the shake in his voice.

“That sounds very welcome, mein Freund.” Theo was close behind him, climbing awkwardly out of the car. Clive almost put a hand out to help him; remembered the last time, handing him down, remembered wanting nothing better than to climb back into the cab and forget the world. And now look at them. Two tired old men. _Widowers_. Theo was right. Everything had changed so much. He shivered, feeling the cold suddenly. Best get inside. It was early yet, despite the gloom. He must get Theo fed and watered first, and some colour back in his cheeks. He could do that. He unlocked the front door, called for Murdoch. They had plenty of time, didn’t they, now, for talking about other things. For the first time in years. They need not start tonight. He wasn’t sure he could take any more upheaval today. Any more  - disappointment. Cowardly of him, to be sure. But he couldn’t face it. And Theo, well. He was himself, but not. He was no longer that laughing boy at the window. Murdoch appeared and took their coats. 

“Theo’s staying for dinner, Murdoch, but can you rustle him up something before then? He’s had no lunch. And get a good strong pot of coffee going, there’s a good fellow. We’re frozen.”

“Aye, sir, I’ll get right on it. The fire’s lit in the lounge, if you want to warm up.”

“Good man. Come along Theo, let’s get you a brandy. Soon lose that chill.” And he was bustling into the lounge, Theo a little slower behind him, the tap of his stick muffled on the carpet. Yes. Plenty of time for talk later. 

 

 

* * * * * * *

 

 

 

Clive glanced cautiously at Theo. He was drinking his after-dinner coffee in small, careful sips. Clive had wanted to make a joke about all the sugar he’d heaped into it but had checked himself, uncertain how it would be received. He looked away, concentrated on lighting his cigar. The silence between them should have been comfortable; they had always - from that very first evening - been at ease together. But Theo seemed far away now, closed off. That had never been the case before. He glanced again at Theo. That coffee must be like treacle. How had he not noticed such a habit? Had they never drunk coffee, in the hospital? No, to be truthful, his memories of Theo there were of smoking endless cigarettes, and drinking Kirschwasser. He’d drunk it only once, since Berlin, and the taste had flung him so sharply into the past that it had almost undone him. Never again. _She and I drink Kirch Water. Oh, Kirschwasser!_ It would not do to dwell on such things. Clive shook himself, relit his cigar. If only he could be sure of Theo. He felt disloyal even thinking it, but Theo was much changed. How different this was, this distant silence, to how he had thought their reunion would be! But he had made the mistake once before, charging in with his heart on his sleeve, and could not again. Not on his own. Not without Barbara to straighten things out. And not when Theo was so reserved, contained.

He looked much better, healthier now, after a good meal. But - there was so much he didn’t want to talk about. As if he didn’t trust Clive. Those missing years. Clive still felt hollow at the thought of it. And there was Edith, too, and their life together. Clive could barely bring himself to think about it. He risked another glance at Theo. He had finished his coffee and was smoking idly, lost in thought, stroking his moustache. What was he thinking? Once upon a time, Clive felt, he’d always known. Now he was not sure. The years had taken that away. 

The clock chimed, breaking Theo’s reverie. He looked at his watch. 

“Oh, it's time I was going,” he said, quietly. So much of him was quiet, today. 

“The night is young yet.” Oh, let him not go, not yet. Even if they sat in silence. Clive had a terrible fear that if he went he would not come back.

“Don't you remember? Curfew for aliens.”

“Oh. Yes.” Of course, that would be on his mind. 

“I have to be at home by midnight.” Home. That wasn’t home. That was just digs, Clive knew. He’d checked them out. Angela hadn’t needed to know why, and - bless her - she had followed orders like the best of his men. 

Murdoch came in to clear the table, breaking into his troubled thoughts. “Don't forget, sir. You have to be up for six o’clock.” 

“Early parade, eh?”

“Aye.” 

“How lucky you are, Clive.” said Theo, wistfully. Yes, he supposed he was. 

“Yes, they put me on the retired list in '35. But I knew they'd want me again. Back I went on the active list like a shot.” That wasn’t important, though. He couldn’t bear the thought of Theo in those digs, of Theo leaving at all.  “I mean, why don't you stay?” He reached out a hand to Theo, faltered, stopped short of touching. “I've eighteen rooms. Murdoch - ”

“Thank you, Clive, I had better not. I would need a special permit anyway.” Polite, again. Not a crumb of familiarity, of _I wish I could._

“All right, Murdoch, as you were.” Disappointed, Clive turned back to Theo. Poured him another drink. “Stay a little longer, I'll send you home by car. Murdoch, tell Miss Cannon to be here by quarter to twelve.”

“Very good, sir.” Clive was thankful for Murdoch’s unusually quiet compliance this evening. As if he realised how delicate things were. 

“Who is Miss Cannon?”

“Miss Cannon? My driver. M.T.C.” Sweet girl. And so what if he had picked her out because she reminded him of Edith? Hadn’t Barbara? And look at how that had turned out. Best punt of his life. He felt bereft again, suddenly, at the thought of her. She would have known what to do. Would have calmed his fears, guided him through. He missed her all the time, but in a familiar, quiet way; tonight the loss was a fresh pang in these unsteady waters, and it shook him. 

“Do you remember, Clive,” Theo said, “we used to say 'Our armies are fighting for our women, our children and our homes'? Now the women are fighting beside the men. The children are being trained to shoot. What's left is - the 'home'. But what is the 'home' without women and children?” 

What indeed? And how could it be that here was Theo in _his_ home, after all these years, all these years of _longing_ for it, and he felt so at sea, and wanted nothing more than Barbara to be here? It made no sense. Nothing made sense. And Barbara was not here to sit him down in the den with a whisky and sort his muddled head out for him. 

“You never met my wife," he said, thinking suddenly of the portrait. "Would you like to see a picture of her?” he asked.

“Oh, very much.” Theo said, and then they were both laughing, and oh! - _there!_ \- what a lovely thing to see, Theo’s face creased in even the smallest smile. 

“Do you remember when that was all I was able to say in English? ‘Very much’.” Theo shook his head, at the boy he had been, and Clive was thrown again, into the past. That first card game. Their evenings together. And that bright boy, coming through the window, that awful morning. Edith’s face, radiant. His dear friend. Oh! A sadness hit him, suddenly. If he had known, that morning, what was to come - he would have clung more tightly to Edith. 

“You got further with them than I ever got.” He realised he sounded bitter. Oh, no, it wasn’t Theo’s fault. He’d known it had to be done. But how easy it had seemed for Theo! Was it possible to love two people at once? _I love your Miss Hunter_. Those words had kept him awake, some nights. 

“In what respect?” 

“Dash it, don't tell me you didn't know - ” how could he not realise? That Edith - well, Theo could have had his pick of women. That much had always been obvious. He hadn’t had to choose Edith, had he? Not with the whole of Germany to pick from? If she had come back with him, to England! They would have shared all those memories, shared so much more time. They would have been friends for a lifetime. 

“Knew  what?”

“You make me blush!” Clive felt hot, suddenly. He realised he was a little too drunk. And Theo was all composure, and polite distance, his heart closed off. 

“But I don't know what you are talking about.” Theo sounded confused. 

“Well - I thought it was written all over my face when I left Berlin in ’02.” Theo had always been able to read his face. What must he be seeing now? Clive didn’t even know himself. God, how wrecked he must have looked, on that train. Leaving Theo behind. Leaving Edith behind. Alone, again. But worse, so much worse. To know their friendship, their _love_ , and have to leave it. How _unfair_ it had all been. 

“You forget, I never saw your face after you’d left.”

No, thought Clive, bitterly. No, you were busy being happy with your fiancée. As if we’d never - god, why would Theo not say anything? And yet he was fearful of what Theo might say.

“I was in love with her - your wife.” That would get a reaction. And, it was true, really, in his own way. If he had to marry - and he had known, really that he must - then who could match up to Edith? _I was in love with you_ , he wanted to say. Could not bring himself to. Theo should know. Had known. Why did he not say anything? Why did he not say, _Clive, what about me? I thought you loved me?_

“She never told me - ”

“She never knew.” He got up, walked to the fireplace. He could not look at Theo. He paced, restless. 

“But I seem to rem - oh Clive, that last day in Berlin when I told you - you seemed genuinely happy - ” Well, of course. They had both played their parts well, hadn’t they? What if he’d said - no, I forbid it? Or, no, look, look at us? What about us? But he couldn’t could he? It was not in their script. Had Theo forgotten that? How easy Clive had made it for him. One last gift. 

“Dash it - ” Clive said, vexed, sitting back down. “I didn't know then. But on the train I started to miss her - on the boat it was worse- and by the time I got back in London - well, I'd got it properly.” He’d used all his strength trying not to think of Theo. And in not thinking of Theo he’d thought of Edith, and realised that he’d lost her too. And there had been no consolation. No-one who would have understood quite what had happened to him, in Berlin. Who could he tell? Hoppy? He would never have grasped it. Theo and Edith had at least had each other. “My Aunt Margaret got on the scent straightaway, women have a nose for these sort of things.” He’d never been able to tell her, not the truth. But she’d known far too much anyway. Known he’d left his heart behind him in Berlin. “Besides I did a stupid thing. First night back I took out her sister...” 

“Aunt Margaret's?” God, was Theo being deliberately obtuse? He couldn’t look at his face. 

“Edith's.”

“Oh, Martha?”

“Yes. Martha.” Of course he knew her. His sister-in-law. Their happy family. God. He must keep control. He must not make an exhibition of himself. 

“But what was stupid about that?”

“Thinking her sister would be like she was.” But all it had served to do was show him how completely alone he was. England was not Germany. Edith’s sister was not Edith. And Theo - there was no substitute for Theo. There never had been. 

“Like Edith?” oh, and there was a smile in Theo’s voice. As if to say, you fool. 

“Yes.” He’d been an idiot. Poor Miss Hunter. He was still an idiot. What was he trying to do?

“Well, you got over it.” said Theo, tapping his arm. The smallest of touches, too polite, mocking him. Not enough. Not the firm grasp of his hand. God, how he wanted to just take him in his arms, feel the warmth and strength of him. But here he was, pouring his heart out, and Theo was being polite. Was that what they had come to? Oh, how he longed for Barbara’s kindness. Her understanding. He felt terribly lonely.  

“That's just it, I never did get over it. Theo, this may sound a damn silly thing to say to you but I never got over it. You may say that she was my ideal, if you were some sort of sickening long-haired poet.” All those wet girls, all those operas and theatre visits. Years of putting up with it all. Just because he couldn’t have Theo. And because Theo had taken Edith away. Because no-one had been quite like her, and he would rather be alone than settle. “All my life I've been looking for a woman like her.” And he had. And he’d found Barbara. A miracle. And lost her, far too soon. “So now you know.” He risked a glance at Theo, finally. He looked shaken. Perhaps he wasn’t so indifferent, after all. Oh, god, what had Clive done?

“Well,” said Theo, still looking bewildered. “I never thought it possible that an Englishman could be so romantic - ” and hadn’t he said something like that once before? Clive had a sudden sharp jolt of memory, of Theo pressed up against him in a cab, a few stolen moments, the world fallen away. He faltered, aware for the first time of what disaster he might have wrought. Oh, god, had he pushed too far? Theo’s hand was on his arm, firmer, warmer now, his thumb lightly stroking, and his voice was so fond. No longer, distant, or polite. Oh god, was it too much to hope for some feeling to still be there? 

“And your wife. You don't mind my asking you? You loved her - ?”

“Yes. Dreadfully.” Clive was lost for a moment, thinking of her again. Oh, there were too many people in his heart tonight. “She was exactly like Edith.” He patted Theo’s hand on his arm, turned brisk, trying to hide his feelings. He would show Theo. Then he would understand. “I’ll show her to you, come on - ” and he was up out of his seat, and leading Theo into the den. 

 

 

 * * * * * * *

 

 

“Oh, she's very lovely.” Theo’s eyes were shining, and Clive could not tell if it were sadness or something kinder. He looked at Theo, his handsome face. He seemed softer now, more relaxed. Hands in his pockets, not needing his stick. He looked younger, in the den. Clive looked back at the portrait. The two people here that meant the most to him. But perhaps Theo was thinking of Edith, still. 

“But, isn't she like Edith? Eh? See the resemblance?”

“Yes - there is something very striking.” Theo paused, thinking; then turned to Clive with fond eyes. “But you must not forget, I saw Edith thirty-one years later than you. We grew old together. You understand?” His voice was fond, he was thinking of the happy years of his marriage, Clive thought. Surely, though, he could see what Clive was trying to say? Why he had sought out Barbara?

“Ah! - yes - of course -” he countered. “But she _was_ exactly like her - ”

Theo was silent for a while, looking around. How well he looked, in here! Clive had a sudden urge to lock the door, keep him safe in here with him. This had always been his favourite room. He wanted to gather him close, but still there was distance between them.

“It's a strange place to hang such a lovely picture,” said Theo, breaking into his thoughts. 

“She wanted it. I call this my Den, you know. She always knew I used to come back here, we had a joke about it - all my stuff’s here.” All his heartache too, and the way through it. Perhaps there was still a way through, with Barbara watching over them. “It would be an awful gap without her - .” He went over to the sideboard, suddenly needing a drink. “Have a peg - what?”

“It must be terrible to lose someone very dear to you in a foreign country.” Theo’s voice, behind him, so gentle. All the coldness of the dining room was gone, and it was as if the years had fallen away again.

“It wasn't a foreign country. It was Jamaica.” Not like Germany, he thought. And then the sense of Theo’s warmth close behind him, and Theo’s hand warm and strong on his shoulder, like a reprieve. A flash, suddenly, of Theo’s hand on his shoulder in the hospital. Theo’s matter-of-fact care. His own instinctive trust. Theo sure and warm at his back. It was simple, clear. Everything else fell away. He steadied himself, handed Theo a drink. He would straighten this out. What had he been thinking? Why had he doubted Theo? What a fool he was. And even if - he forced himself to think of it - even if Theo had changed, well, he was here, in England. They were friends. If that was all there was to have, it was still a great deal. It would have to be. 

“Look here, old man. Come and sit down.” He led Theo back over to the fireplace, sat himself in his favourite chair. Theo took the one opposite, the one he still thought of as Aunt Margaret’s, after all this time. How many wise heads had helped him in this room! He would not let them down.

“Clive?” Theo was unsure again, now. Clive had done that to him. Blowing hot and cold.

“You must forgive me, old thing. I’ve been more muddle headed than usual tonight.”

“What do you mean, Clive? You know I am not at my best either, after such a day. There is surely nothing to forgive?”

“All this talk of Edith.”

“Oh.” Theo’s face was blank, impossible to read. God, he had to be brave. He had faced it before, hadn’t he? But last time, Theo had been almost on a train to Germany. Now, he was here, and he was going nowhere. Whatever they said, there was no running away from it. Clive took a sip of his drink.

“I - I thought you would understand, when I showed you the picture.” He gestured to Barbara’s portrait. 

“Understand what? That you loved your wife? That you loved Edith?” 

“No! Well, yes. Oh. You see! Muddle headed. What I mean is, you haven’t forgotten, have you, what I told you about Barbara, all those years ago?”

“What, that she didn’t want children?” Theo was cautious, closed off again. 

“No, you devil. That she knew about me.” He looked down, not wanting to see Theo’s face. “That she knew my nature, and it was alright. And I loved her dearly for it. Not just for that.” He risked a glance at Theo, but still could not tell what he was thinking. “But don’t you see? What I mean is - I found my ideal. And I found her because I was looking for someone like Edith. Not one of those wet society girls. Someone with a bit of brain, and character.” He looked at Theo again, thought his face was softening a little. “Someone who could be a _friend_. Like Edith was my friend. Aunt Margaret set me on that path, you know, sitting right where you are now.” He paused, thinking back to that evening. “She thought I’d come back from Berlin in love with Edith.” He blushed, looked at Theo again. His nerve failed him. He could not say _but I came back in love with you._ Because he still was. Of course he was. “But you know what she said? She said that marriages came in all shapes and sizes. And that - ” he broke off, suddenly moved by the memory.

“That what, Clive?” asked Theo softly.

“That I deserved to be happy. And that if I couldn’t be with - with the - person I loved, then I might find someone who was a friend.” He put his glass down, bent his head. He had said too much. But not said enough. It was like a minefield. Cautious steps all the way, and still one false step would lead to destruction. 

“And you found that in Barbara?”

“Yes. And more. A one in a million shot.” He looked up at the portrait, felt an overwhelming affection welling through him. “I was so very lucky. For a short time.” With Barbara. Lucky with Theo, too. For an even shorter time. Dear god, let them have more time, now. Please let this not be the end of it. Theo’s face was thoughtful, as he sipped his drink. Clive could still not tell what he was thinking. Had he made himself clear, now? He thought so. 

“I’m sorry, Theo. It’s just, the news of Edith. It was a terrible shock. Sent me reeling, I must tell you. Raked up all those memories.”

“Clive. I should have realised. It was thoughtless of me. I was so relieved, to see you, to be out of that horrible room, that I was not thinking clearly. But, I think I understand, now.” 

“Good. Good.” Clive stood up, suddenly, needing a moment to himself. He felt strangely exposed, and a little mortified at his lack of control. “Look, I’ll just go and check that Murdoch has fixed your lift home. He’s usually infallible but he forgets things, sometimes. I don’t want you to get into trouble. Not now.”

“Alright, Clive. Look - ” and he stood up as Clive passed him, stopped him with a hand on his arm. Oh, the warmth, just from that. “We are alright, mein Freund. Yes? You and I?”

Clive’s heart kicked, unruly, at that. An echo of another time, another question. Would Theo be the brave one here? Would he say it?

“Yes, of course we are. We always are, eh?”

“Yes, Clive. We always are. Alright. I wanted to be sure.” And he released Clive’s arm, and wandered over to the sideboard. Clive’s heart thudded again. He had been sure Theo was about to say it. _Freunde für immer_. Damnation, he had to go and check with Murdoch now, or Theo would think him mad. He took one last look behind him, and Theo was rooting around for a cigarette. That could mean anything, with Theo. Nothing to say how he was feeling. He strode out of the room, calling for Murdoch, glad of the reprieve, suddenly; leaving Theo to his search. 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> While it's not exactly a cliffhanger ending, you might like to know that the next story in the series takes up where this leaves off, from Theo's POV. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm a fic-teaser. *hem hem*
> 
> Some dialogue in this is from the film, so if you recognise it, it's Emeric's. If you listen closely as you read, you can hear the sound of me sobbing with frustration as I try and fit the story round the conversation. It was challenging, to say the least, and I have done more Tennant-styleee fist shaking and shouting _PRESSBURGER!_ writing this fic than all the others put together. I guess one of the rewards of fic is making the canon work for your story. I'm not sure that I managed that completely here, but I did my best. 
> 
> Much extensive hand-holding and betaing as usual from **jennytheshipper**. She earned her spurs on this one.


End file.
